


Then the Snow Started Falling...

by lucyinthesoupwithcroutons



Series: Teen Wolf Christmas [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blizzards & Snowstorms, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sharing Body Heat, Stranded
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-02
Updated: 2012-12-02
Packaged: 2017-11-20 04:10:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/581164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucyinthesoupwithcroutons/pseuds/lucyinthesoupwithcroutons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles runs out of gas in a snowstorm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Then the Snow Started Falling...

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the third day (prompt: Snow) of Teen Wolf Christmas on Tumblr (teenwolf-christmas.tumblr.com).
> 
> Title is from the gorgeous Bon Iver song Blood Bank, which you should all have a listen to.
> 
> Thank you to Pyth (http://archiveofourown.org/users/Peahen) for the beta work and convincing me not to delete it.
> 
> Again, I'm fairly certain no warnings are needed on this particular fic, but if there's anything in here I need to tag/warn for that I didn't, please feel free to tell me.

“Oh, oh no, oh, come on baby, don’t do this to meeeee.” Stiles whines as he feels his poor jeep gradually slowing to a halt in the middle of the road. “Come on, don’t do this. I’ve been so _good_ to you today. I got you an oil change and put your snow tires on and—Oh...”

His eyes stop on the fuel needle, which is very firmly pointed at “Empty”. He knew he should have stopped to fill up before he headed home. Or at least held off on running the heater.

“Is this karma for that thing with the leaf-blower last week?” He asks the empty air around him. “Because I told Finstock I was _sorry_. I don’t think it calls for stranding me in a freaking blizzard!”

He stomps on the gas pedal, mostly out of frustration, but it makes little difference; he’s stuck. He just about manages to guide the car to the side of the road before it comes to a full stop. He contemplates his options.

Town is a good five miles away and that could take him well over two hours in these conditions, so that’s clearly not an option. Especially given that he’s in a beat-up pair of old Converse. He wants to remain attached to his toes and free of frostbite, thank you very much. His remaining options are: get a tow (he’s not sure the place would even still be open, it’s way past six already), call his dad, call Scott, or call Derek.

He opts for Derek first, mostly because his car is faster, he’s more likely to have a canister of gas already (being the crazy, over prepared wilderness guy that he sometimes is), and he lives closer. Not to mention he’s hoping to avoid the “What did you think you were doing leaving town without filling up?” conversation with his dad.

Though apparently Derek is nowhere near his phone, so after leaving five profanity-filled and increasingly desperate voicemails, Stiles gives up and dials his dad’s work number. Unfortunately this is the moment his battery chooses to run out without any warning.

“Oh, _come on_!” Stiles wails, shaking the phone like he’s sure it’s holding out on him deliberately. “No, no, no, no, no. This isn’t happening. No. I’m not going to spend the night in this jeep in the snow. _Tell_ me I’m not gonna have to spend the night in the jeep. _Please_?”

His phone bleeping its death at him is the only response he gets.

“Yeah, you have enough life left in you to show the dead battery picture and beep at me, don’t you? You _asshole_ of a phone.” He tosses it in the back seat and pretty much pouts. “If I live? I’m replacing you _tomorrow_. You’re getting run over. And run through my dad’s shredder. And then I’m gonna pee on the remains.”

And, ok. He realises he may be freaking out a little here, but can you blame him? It’s starting to get cold in the jeep already and he has literally no other option than to sit here and hope Derek checks his messages or someone else figures out he’s missing. Preferably Scott or his dad, but he’d honestly take Jackson right now. He’d take Chris Argent. That’s the position he’s in.

He clambers into the back seat and pulls up the divider between the seat and the trunk to search for the emergency supplies he hopes his dad still sneaks in there when he isn’t looking. He figures if he’s stuck here, he might as well be proactive about it.

 

~

 

“...and okay, I don’t know why the fucking shit you don’t have your phone with you – because I know, man, I know you _always_ have your stupid damn phone with you. WHY IS TODAY THE EXCEPTION, DEREK? – but okay, it’s freezing outside, and it’s gonna get freezing in here really fast, and I need you to get that gas here _right now_ , or I’m stuck here for the night. Just. Please. Okay? Just, please check your phone. I’m in trouble here. Like, _really_ in trouble. I love you. Please get this. Bye.”

Derek checks the time that Stiles left that last message, mentally kicking himself as he tosses supplies haphazardly into a backpack. It was _hours ago_ , dammit, and there hasn’t been one since. He’s not even looking at half the stuff he’s shoving in. He knows there are at least blankets, power-bars, and a thermos of scalding, probably disgusting, tea that he’d made in a hurry; anything else is optional. He slings it on, straps the canister of gas to the back of it with a few bungee chords and then runs like hell.

~

He picks up Stiles’ heartbeat about a hundred metres up the road from where he’s parked and it’s such an unbelievable relief. Though the feeling is short-lived when he notices how much it’s slowed down. In seconds he’s at Stiles’ window, knocking to be let in, but gets no response, so he levers himself far enough up the side of the jeep to see inside the fogged windows. He can just about make out Stiles in the back seat, wrapped in several coats and blankets, all stuffed inside a sleeping bag. Even with all that he’s shivering.

Derek climbs in, shutting the door as quickly as he can to keep in what little heat there is. Stiles doesn’t look good. Not one little bit. He isn’t conscious and his lips are starting to go blue around the edges.

Derek shakes him, calls his name, but gets no response beyond a slight frown.

“Stiles. Come on. You are _asleep_ , not unconscious, do you hear me? And you’re going to wake up _right now_.” Still little to no response, but he hears a stutter in Stiles’ heartbeat and sees his eyelids flicker. “Yes, good, that’s it. Come on. Wake _up_.”

The first thing out of Stiles’ mouth when he wakes up couldn’t be considered words by _any_ definition, and even through his half-lidded eyes he looks completely confused, but he’s awake and that’s what matters.

“You _idiot_ , what are you doing out here?” Derek laughs from the sheer relief, digging through the backpack to find something, anything useful.

“You! You were the one... and the phone? You didn’t answer my thing, it was cold...” He trails off, frowning, at least aware enough to hear that he isn’t making sense. “’S still cold...”

Derek swallows hard, pulling a scarf around Stiles’ neck where it’s still exposed and draping the blankets around him.

“I know. I _know_. I’m sorry. How long have you been out here?”

“I, um, maybe... hours? I don’t— I fell asleep. Did you bring gas?”

Derek nods tightly, digging out the thermos and the power-bars from under the pile.

“I did, but I need to take care of you first, okay? You’re about to freeze.” He pours some tea into the thick plastic cup attached to the top of the thermos and leaves it to cool enough to be drinkable on the passenger seat. “When was the last time you ate something?”

“Also hours? No food in the car.” He’s having a hard time talking through his chattering teeth. When Derek tries to hand him the power-bar he just looks at it. “Derek?”

“Yeah?”

“I can’t remember where my hands are.”

Panic shoots through him, but he clamps down on it. He has to be the calm one here.

“You can’t remember where they are in the sleeping bag, or you can’t feel them?”

“The first one, mostly? Lots of layers, I was in a hurry. They got... lost.”

Derek nods again, completely lost as to how to respond to that. Doesn’t know how to pretend that makes any sense.

“That’s okay. You don’t need them right now; I can hold it for you. Can you sit up?”

He does it slowly, feet slipping inside the sleeping bag, but eventually pushes himself fully upright.

“Good. Great. Now stop just staring at this and actually _eat_ it.” He shoves the power-bar in Stiles’ direction again, possibly less gently than he could have under the circumstances, but he’s _very_ aware of the state Stiles is in right now. He just wants to get some food and a hot drink in him as fast as possible, then get him home so he can warm him up properly.

With his free hand he starts trying to rub some warmth back into Stiles through all the layers. He’s feeling slightly less judgemental about the hand thing, because honestly he can’t seem to find them either. He follows the first bar with a second one the minute Stiles finishes, and by that time the tea is cool enough to risk giving it to him.

“If you spill that on me, I swear to God...” Stiles warns, eyeing the steaming cup warily.

“I see someone’s feeling more like himself again.” Derek rolls his eyes, bringing the cup to Stiles’ lips as carefully as possible. To Derek’s eternal relief, by the time Stiles finishes drinking, his lips have lost their blueness and he’s shaking a bit less.

Derek thinks that now Stiles isn’t in any immediate danger, it might be as good a time as any to put some gas back in the tank and get them the hell home. He slips out of the jeep and back in within the space of a minute, wraps Stiles and the enormous pile of blankets in a seatbelt (to some pretty heavy protests and a colourful selection of threats about what will happen if Derek damages his baby while he’s driving), and takes off towards town.

 

~

 

Derek takes them back to his own house in the end. Mostly because it’s closer, but also because he wants to keep an eye on Stiles for the night in case they need to go to the hospital.

“Wait, why are we here?”

“It’s closer than your house and I have a double bed and a space heater upstairs.”

“Well aware of that, dude. I was with you when you bought them.” Stiles rolls his eyes. “What about my dad, though? He doesn’t know where I am.”

“I texted him earlier and I’ll call him again when you’re warmed up. Let’s just concentrate on getting you inside.” He can hear Stiles’ heart rate pick up at that.

“I, uh, don’t think I can get out of this.” He squirms inside the sleeping bag

“I wasn’t going to make you walk in the snow, you know. I’ll be back in a second.” He leaps out, slamming the door behind him, and opens the front door so he can bring Stiles right in. He climbs into the car and moves to pick Stiles up, blankets and all, but Stiles flinches back.

“Stiles, I have to get you inside. What’s wrong?”

“Have you seen it out there?! It’s like a bazillion degrees below zero.” He’s restrained by the sleeping bag, but Derek is pretty sure his arms would be flailing if they were free. “At least it’s only like, one degree below zero in here.”

“Stiles, you’re going to _die_ if we stay out here. Do you understand that? Either let me take you in the house to warm you up or I’ll have to take you to the hospital so Scott’s mom can do it.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you don’t fight fair?” Stiles narrows his eyes.

“You. At least once a day.”

“Ugh, hate you. Okay, take me in there and don’t drop me. I’ll bite your ankles from my snowy grave.”

“You paint a vivid picture, but I’m not going to drop you.” Derek says grimly as he gathers Stiles and the assorted blankets up in his arms and gets ready to make a run for it.

 

~

 

They unfortunately come up against the same problem inside, once he’s plopped Stiles down on the bed and turned on the space heater. Derek grabs any other blankets he can find from the linen closet, drapes them over the chair next to the bed and strips to his underwear. He goes to pull down the zip on the sleeping bag, but Stiles rolls over, pulling it out of reach.

“No. Nope. Not happening.” Stiles says, shaking his head and curling in on himself to the degree he can underneath all the layers.

“Stiles, I have to get you out of your clothes.”

“Well that’s romantic.”

“Would you stop being a five year old about this?!”  Derek finally snaps and yells at him, utterly exasperated. “Heat. You need body heat right now, and I can’t give you any while you’re wrapped in all that.”

“But it’s cold out there, I can feel it, and it’s warm—Well, okay, it isn’t warm, but it’s _less_ cold in here, alright?” He whines. “Just let me be the Stiles-burrito a little longer, please? I can totally heat myself. Don’t take away my layers, it’s counter-productive.”

“You can’t heat yourself, you can’t even stop shivering. Just. Here. Let me—“ He makes a grab for the zip again, catching it this time and unravelling the tangle of blankets and coats around Stiles.

“No! No, oh God, screw you. Screw you so much, why would you do that?!” Stiles shouts as he tries and fails to pull the blankets back around himself, his fingers too stiff from the cold to grip properly. He starts shaking violently almost as soon as the cold air hits him, hissing and spitting like an angry cat and cursing Derek’s name as he curls in on himself.

“I know. I know, okay? I’m sorry. But I have to.” He makes a grab for Stiles’ shirt next, choosing not to comment on the ridiculousness of going out in this weather in just an open shirt and a t-shirt. For his own sanity he’s going to assume Stiles was wearing at least one of the coats he had wrapped around himself.

“Fine. Fuck. Just. Take them off me and get over here with the blankets, I’m freezing.” Stiles finally relents, doing his best to help pull his clothes off faster. His hands are still clumsy enough to just be getting in the way more than anything, but eventually they’re both down to their boxers and Derek is piling blankets onto the bed.

It’s worrying that the clothes he pulled off Stiles had little to no body heat in them, but Derek is very deliberately not thinking about that. He dives under the covers and Stiles latches onto him as the nearest heat source almost immediately. He actually hisses at the icy sensation as Stiles’ hands curl around his neck and he intertwines their legs. He pulls Stiles’ face into his chest and starts rubbing up and down his arms, trying to coax as much blood-flow into them as he can, painfully aware of how pale he is.

Stiles is still shivering but he’s making these pleased little noises in the back of his throat, so relieved to finally have some heat. He’s pressing himself into Derek at every place he can get their skin to make contact, running his shaking hands up and down his shoulders, pulling the blankets tighter around them.

“Ugh, thank you. I take it all back, this was your best idea ever.” He murmurs into the hollow of Derek’s neck. “And I include the swimming pool sex in that, just so you know.”

Derek can’t help the laugh that startles out of him.

“I’m guessing the ability to use humour is a good sign of health.”

He can feel Stiles’ groan vibrate through his collarbone.

“Dude, are you really trying to quote me right now?” He seems to be trying to raise his head enough to meet Derek’s eyes but gives up halfway through and drops it back down. “No snarking when I’m this tired. There should be a rule.”

“I always have to deal with your snark when I’m tired. Suck it up.” Derek says, slightly more fondly than he’d intended.

“Well, you know, speaking of the swimming pool sex, you know what would totally get my blood flowing...?” Stiles is either trying to change the subject or he’s insane, Derek can’t tell which.

“No, Stiles. Absolutely not.”

“Not even a celebratory blowjob for my hero? I’ll keep it under the covers and everything!” Stiles’ teeth press gently into his neck.

“You’re still half-frozen, you lunatic. We can do anything we want in the morning.” He says in what he hopes is his and-that’s-final voice.

“Hmpf, you strip me naked and get me into bed, then we don’t do anything. You’re just no fun at all.” He can actually _feel_ Stiles pouting, but he’s pretty sure he’s smiling too. He pulls Derek closer and nuzzles into the side of his face. “Thanks for not, like, leaving me to freeze and stuff though. You get points for that.”

Derek snorts again. It’s worrying how much of a habit that’s becoming with Stiles.

“You’re welcome, you idiot. Now go to sleep.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! =]
> 
> By the way, not that I'm expecting any, but my policy on fan-art is: "YES PLEASE, I WILL LOVE YOU FOREVER. PLEASE SHOW IT TO ME WHEN YOU'RE DONE SO I CAN BASK IN ITS GLORY." Just so everyone knows.
> 
> Also if you want to message/follow me on Tumblr my url is lucy-in-the-soup-with-croutons.tumblr.com


End file.
